The worst part of living isn’t dying; it’s that there are no redos.

Last summer my friend Elliot and I tried to climb into my bedroom window from the big oak outside.  I can still see Elliot trying to lift the pane when the branch snapped and he fell and broke his neck on the patio table.

The nights grew warm again and oak branches started scratching at my window, so Dad trimmed them.  I wish he hadn’t.  Because now I’m awake, still hearing something scratching at my window and knowing it’s not branches.  But like I said, no redos.

This story was written for the 100 Word Stories podcast’s Weekly Challenge #258.